Phrembah (a potato-like mystery) (phrembah) wrote,
Phrembah (a potato-like mystery)
phrembah

Don't look at me. If I knew what I was doing, I wouldn't be here.

One of my favorite lines. We were installing the sound system in the Rio Grande High School drama theater* and the drama teacher was giving us all kinds of crap about the the location of the special effects speakers versus the sound reinforcement speakers, "No, no, I don't want those there, they have to go behind the side towers where the audience can't see them." Well, we were the gruntest of the grunt. Our boss could not change the blueprints. The general contractor could not change the blueprints. Only the architect could change the blueprints and then only with the consent of the acoustical engineering consultant. So this lady wasn't even barking up the wrong tree; she was barking up a couple of weeds. After a couple more choruses of, "This is not the way you design a drama theater, for Pete's sake," my compatriot turned to her and said, "Look lady, if I knew what I was doing, I wouldn't be here."

I love the saying. It is so apropos to so many situations in the Workplace of Tomorrow.

· · ·
T took me to lunch for my birthday today. Mom kind of preempted the dinner thing they were going to do this weekend and they will be at the Mom thing, so this was a token birthday meal thing, though there was about an 80% chance we would have gone to lunch today, anyway. A free lunch is a free lunch, hey. As Jonathan Franzen put it: we're foregoing the oral exams for gift-horses this afternoon.

If I were Dylan Thomas I would write something like "Poem On His Birthday" or "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night", but alas, if I were Dylan Thomas, I wouldn't be here, would I? I'd be lying in a Welsh churchyard somewhere (Wales, more than likely).

I usually have to be reminded by someone else that it's my birthday or that it's coming up. I'm just not much of a chronological demarcationist or celebrator of milestones. My grandmother once asked me on a birthday how it felt to be six. It felt no different whatsoever from being five and 364/365ths. Or five and a half. Or five. Or four and a half. Or any other age of which I had the even the vaguest recollection. Nor has it ever. This consciousness never seems to vary. The body comes, the body goes. Overall, it's older, of course. Even brain function varies. But that varies much more due to what has been imbibed recently than it does due to age. Getting blotto on JD on a Friday night** can leave me in a daze for an entire weekend, but it had the same effect when I was 22. I could freak out about getting older, but what, exactly, did I expect? And no matter how corny the old joke, it still beats the alternative.

So, wow, another birthday.

· · ·

*It was (is?) a cute little theater with balconies you could do Shakespeare from---that was sort of the whole point---and amphitheater type steps along the back facing the regular audience seats that were for doing Greeky things by Aristophanes, or whoever, and rigging for scenery and wings for ultra-dramatic entrances and exits (stage right or left, take your pick) -- the whole nine yards, as it were, but small. It sat 300-400 maybe and I thought it would be cool to have such a place just for grins. Sans drama teacher, of course. The minute you start to take something such as that seriously, the fun just runs right out the plug'ole.

**A very rare exercise anymore. I finally made the connection between feeling like a squashed toad and having put away the better part of a fifth of JD the night before. For the longest time I thought it a miasmic phenomenon.
Tags: compelling chronicle, cute, profundity extraordinaire
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